


Necessities

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), frostbite - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), POV Loki (Marvel), Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28927788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: He'll do whatever is necessary to be with her again.(A scene from Part 45 of Frostbite from Loki's perspective).
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Reader, Loki/In-Unga
Comments: 15
Kudos: 215
Collections: Flurries - The World of Frostbite





	Necessities

The muscle in his jaw tightens. He needs to stop clenching his teeth so often. It gives him terrible headaches. The smoke in the hut isn’t helping matters, either; his nose stings, and he wonders how the witches endure it. 

They watch him expectantly, and Loki sneezes. 

One of the older giantesses chuckles. “You come to us under the cover of night, Loki Laufeyson - so clandestine. What is it that you require? Do you hope to have your fortune foreseen?”

“Norns, no,” Loki replies. “I make my own fortune.”

A younger witch begins to reproach him, but her matron holds up a hand. “The king will find his fortune in his own time,” she says. “Ask what you would ask of us, young man.”

_ If you are all so adept at reading fortunes,  _ he thinks,  _ shouldn’t you already know? _ “I need something medicinal - a potion or a spell.”

“For what purpose?”

The women move closer, their curiosity piqued, and Loki feels his face burn. He does not understand why he finds the situation so mortifying; he is a god and a king, and he should be able to have frank discussions about any aspect of his life that he so chooses. By Yggdrasil, he is even expected to keep a  _ harem _ . A jötunn king’s sexual proclivities likely make up a great deal of the continent’s gossip on any given day. He  _ knows _ that the court speculates over his bed-habits already. It isn’t as if he is oblivious to their whispers. 

Still, Loki flushes as he stands surrounded by the coven of witches in Blóthörgr, all of them watching him with such blatant curiosity. One or two look near to him in age, but the majority are old enough to be his grandmother, and Loki pales at the thought of discussing his sex life with a grandmother. It strikes him as terribly improper. 

“Well, King of Jotunheim?”

“I need to counter conception.“ The choice of words does not sound exactly right, he thinks. “That is, I am not ready… I am in search of a prophylactic,” he says. 

The matriarch’s lip quirks. He hopes she doesn’t begin to laugh. He isn’t certain how he’d react. 

“You wish to curse a rival?” asks one of the witches, in what Loki is certain is only feigned innocence. “To prevent your brothers from conceiving heirs, perhaps?”

“Well, no—”

“For, as you likely know, sire, it is rare enough for a woman to conceive, especially unmated and out of season… You could simply poison—”

“I need something harmless,” he interrupts. A younger giantess snickers. He is certain that they are teasing him. He should be angry at their lack of proper respect, but he is far too flustered. “Something for myself. My m— my mortal, she is fertile often. Human cycles are… different.” Loki clears his throat, fighting the urge to fidget.  _ Nearly called her your ‘mate,’ didn’t you? Careless. You are going native - an Æsir would never refer to his woman as a mate.  _

He likes the term, though. There is something… something  _ primal  _ about it. It suits the way he feels about her.  _ Soulmate _ . It may be romantic and a bit silly, but she makes him feel romantic and silly, so really, she is to blame. 

The witches still watch him. He blinks. He hopes that the smoke isn’t a part of some sort of enchantment, because he does feel that he’s missing his usual edge. 

“The desire of the king is to corrupt his own seed? To spill inside of his pet with no fear of consequence?” the eldest giantess asks patiently, and Loki nearly chokes. 

“Something like that, I suppose.”

She nods, acting as if it is the most normal request she’s ever heard. “Valkona,” she says to one of the other women, “what would you suggest to render a Midgardian infertile?”

“No,” Loki says. “No, it is for her, but it is not  _ for  _ her.”

“Oh?”

_ I suppose that revelling in my discomfort is payment for their services,  _ he thinks. “Mortals are delicate. I do not want to risk any injury. And, we—  _ I _ am only seeking a temporary solution. I will need to eventually have children, of course. It is expected of me.”

“Children with your pet?” the young giantess asks. 

“I did not say that.”

She taps the side of her head. “You are  _ thinking _ of children borne by your mortal, sire.”

Loki’s eyes narrow. “You—”

“I only see vague impressions,” she quickly reassures him, her smile blinding in the darkness of the hut. “I see nothing overly scandalous.”

The matriarch smiles, too, and Loki wants to crawl into a hole and hide. “Add a little moonlight, Valkona,” she says, “since his lover is a mortal.”

“Your birth was disastrous,” another witch tells him, and without asking his leave, she takes his chin in her hand and tilts his head back to examine his features. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were a difficult delivery,” she says. She angles his head to one side, then to another, and Loki bristles. “You nearly killed your mother, little king. I am thinking that your mortal might struggle to carry your children. She is small. Delicate, as you said.”

“But, Göndul,” the youngest says, “he is also small. If they—” she hesitates, then makes a gesture with her hands that sends fire flooding back to Loki’s face “—you know, if they  _ fit _ together, then surely…”

“How are her hips?” the stern witch holding his chin asks. 

“Her hips?” Loki asks, aghast. “I do not—”

“You keep her wrapped in furs. Her frame is difficult to ascertain. Are they wide enough for easy childbearing? You had an exceptionally round head for such a runt of a newborn babe—”

“How dare you?”

She pinches his cheek. “I helped your mother deliver you into this world, rude king. I have seen you naked and squalling. I dare quite a lot.”

_ Norns,  _ he thinks. “There are human men of my stature, crone,” he says, “and in any case, I did not come for advice about creating children. The opposite, in fact.”

_ There will be time to figure out the rest. _

Göndul tuts. “Your mother said your large head meant that you’d grow to be clever,” she says. “I told her it meant that you would be prideful.  _ Stubborn _ .” She glances at the small circle of starlight visible above them. “See, Gunnlöð? Göndul was right, after all this time.”

The concoction is held out for his regard. He recoils when he sniffs it, nose crinkled in disgust. “That is poison.”

“I thought that you were supposedly well-studied, Frigguson,” the witch says. “The dose makes the difference between poison and medicine. And, truly, it  _ is intended _ as a poisonous curse.” She dips her finger into the shimmering paste. “Its original purpose was to end bloodlines.”

He imagines the face his love would be making, if she’d been there to hear all of the doom and gloom. The inquiry about the width of her hips would’ve either left her furious or laughing - sometimes, she is unpredictable, even for him.  _ Experimental doses of vindictive reproductive curses. For anyone else, I would not consider it for even a moment, but for your safety… _ “But… you are sure that it will not  _ permanently  _ end my bloodline?”

“You will have to periodically renew it. You may feel ill from time to time - but any spell can have unintended effects on the body.” There’s a hint of challenge in her eyes as she peers down at him. “Is that something you are willing to endure? For your woman’s health?”

“Of course,” Loki replies. 

“Show me your belly.”

“What?”

“I need bare skin, sire,” she tells him, and he thinks he catches her rolling her eyes. “Lower belly. This will burn, I  _ believe.  _ I cannot say that it is a spell used often.” Loki cringes as she pokes at him with her cold fingers. “At least you have your brothers to succeed you, I suppose, in case things go horribly awry.”

“You do not inspire confidence.”

“You could always choose to seek aid elsewhere, sire.” The witch tugs his belt lower - worryingly low, in Loki’s opinion. She prods at a marking that runs just above his manhood, and he feels the sting of magic. 

“That burns, witch.”

“Good. I said that it would, did I not?” she says, and then she cups his groin, a thoughtful frown on her lips. “Ymir’s breath, boy, you  _ do _ have potent life in you.”

Loki grits his teeth. “Do I?”

She crosses her arms and regards him in silence, then bursts into a cackle. “If this realm does not accommodate you, perhaps you could sire your own kingdom.”

He decides to put thoughts of that away to contemplate later. The cold, tingling paste leeches any remaining warmth from his skin, and as soon as the last of the runes has faded, he sets his belt and clothes to rights. “Thank you for your assistance,” he says stiffly, turning to leave. His face contorts; there’s an uncomfortable, dull ache in his groin. 

“You will feel it for at least the next few hours, sire,” one of the witches calls after him. His face burns; he can hear the rest of them snickering. 

_ No matter. _ He’s going to have glorious, messy, long-anticipated sex with the woman he loves, and then he is going to fall asleep in her arms, warm and satiated and  _ happy.  _

It’s all he can do to keep himself from dragging her away from her friends and the fire, no matter the effects of the spell. Loki is prepared to endure anything at all to be inside her again, to feel her coming undone while he is buried deep, milking every last  _ drop— _

“Sire?”

Loki clears his throat. “Yes?” he says to the boy who’s appeared by his elbow. “What is it?”

The boy offers him a flagon. Loki takes it and nearly drains it in one go, while the serving-boy stares at him, wide-eyed. Loki tosses the empty flagon back and tersely thanks him. It has been a long day. 

He makes it only another hour or so before he captures his lover and steals her away like a jealous dragon. Her eyes are dark, and Loki trembles with anticipation. Her hands are beneath his shirt by the time the door closes behind them, and Loki curls a hand beneath her thigh as he topples her onto a pile of soft furs. The act is savage, but the landing is gentle, and she does not seem to mind. She grabs him by the neck and wrests him down for a vicious kiss, yanking on his hair. 

“Sweet girl,” Loki praises, allowing passion to take over where precision has faltered in the wake of his burning need to feel her bare skin. “My beautiful,  _ clever _ temptress.” Her nails scrape his back, and he growls. “I could smell you across the fire.”

Her lips part, a little gasp of mortification, perhaps. Loki takes advantage. He plunders her mouth, nipping at her lips and savoring the taste of her, so warm and sweet. When he comes up for air, he rests his forehead against hers, nuzzling against her cheek as she pants. “Could you really?” she whispers.

“I could,” he replies. He sets back to work, digesting her of her cloak, her coat, her leather vest and woolen gloves. He wants to melt into her, skin against skin, so he pulls the furs around them, nestling them into a warm cocoon, made even warmer by the heat of his magic and their eager bodies.

She tugs a braid loose from his hair so that she can run her fingers through it more freely. “I hope nobody else could.”

“On the contrary,” Loki says - and there goes her belt, and her leggings, too, though it takes a great deal of effort to help her wriggle free of them while he remains on top of her. “I hope that they could all catch the scent of you, dröttning. I hope they despair, knowing that only I possess something so  _ perfect.” _

He leaves her under-tunic and her long, thigh-high woolen socks, for even beneath their covers, the night is cold. Her skin is subject to greedy, open-mouthed kisses, and Loki listens to her delightful mewls of pleasure as he pays worship to every inch of bare skin he can find, taking note of each spot that makes her truly writhe. 

“You got the… the thing?” she asks. She’s gotten his belt unfastened, though she seems to be struggling with his tight leather trousers. 

He rolls onto his side to allow her better access. “Yes,” he says. Temptation overwhelms him, then, and he pulls her tunic up to her neck so that he can palm her breasts. If she is cold, he decides, it will only give them more reason to warm each other. He kisses one, and then, when she arches against him, he teases the other with tongue and teeth, working his hand between her thighs. 

She smacks his cheek. “Stop distracting me,” she says. “I’m trying to get you naked, Loki.”

He’s bemused. “I thought that I could savor the moment.”

“I want—” Abruptly, she catches herself and bites her lip. Her gaze flickers to a point somewhere beyond his shoulder. She takes a deep breath. 

Loki cannot stop staring at those kiss-swollen lips. “Want?” he rasps. He knows what  _ he  _ wants. 

He meets her eyes, which manage to be even more alluring than her lips, somehow. “I want you to come in me,” she says, hooking her leg over his to rub wantonly against his throbbing erection. Loki nearly chokes. “I want you to come in me, Loki.” She licks his neck, settling her mouth over the mate-mark and worrying it with her teeth while Loki’s mind is overcome by white-hot lust. “I  _ need _ it.”

The rest of his clothing is quickly thrown clear across the room. He isn’t even certain how he manages it with her twined so tightly around him, but her demands are powerful motivation. “I am going to  _ fill _ you,” he tells her, his voice so low that it might as well be a growl. “When I am done with you, my filthy,  _ sweet _ girl, your throat will be raw from crying my name.” He presses his fingers inside her, surprising her, and he takes advantage of her momentary lack of focus to roll atop her, taking control. She pleads for more; Loki, ever-eager to oblige, lifts one of her legs over his shoulder. 

_ “Oh,” _ she whimpers. “That’s not—  _ oh.”  _

“Not what you need?” Loki asks sweetly, relishing the way the muscles in her thighs tremble as he fucks her with his fingers. “But, my love, you are so close.”

Cursing, she bucks against his hand. “No,” she says, “I want— Loki, I  _ need _ you. Inside me,  _ please.” _

Every word she utters is more perfect than the last. “Earn your reward,” he tells her. “Be a good girl and come for me, and you’ll earn my seed.” He worries, for a fleeting moment, that he has said the wrong thing, but from the way she writhes and moans his name, he supposes she must find their play equally gratifying. “Come, dröttning.  _ Now.” _

She shrieks - surprising them both, though Loki is hardly bothered by it. He cradles her face in his hands and kisses her deeply as little aftershocks and tremors wrack her delicate body. It does not take her long to recover; she reaches between them and wraps her hand around his manhood, shivering again when she feels how desperately hard she’s made him. He rolls back onto his side, closing his eyes and focusing on the blissful sensation of her working gentle kisses in a pattern down his abdomen and hips. 

But, her knuckles brush his lower belly, and Loki winces. He tries to hide it, but she notices, just like she seems to notice nearly everything about him. Her brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a little tenderness, darling. The witches…”

She is ready to go on the warpath. He can see it in her eyes the very moment she decides that someone’s done him an injury, and her wrath makes his heart flutter. “What did they do? Did they hurt you?”

“Well, they might’ve poisoned me,” he admits, “but only a little.” He closes his hand around hers, willing her to continue. For her to have her nimble, warm fingers wrapped around his cock and to keep them unmoving should be a crime - a  _ punishable _ crime, certainly. It is torture,  _ treason, _ and—

The groan that tears from his throat when her cunning, perfectly-hot tongue darts out to taste him is, quite frankly, embarrassing. His train of thought burned away in an instant. He bucks against her hand, and she lets out a pleased little sigh. Loki cracks open an eye. “Were you… testing me?” he asks. “Did you think—”

“That you were lying?” she interrupts, moving up his body to kiss him on the lips. “Maybe. I thought you might be trying to keep from disappointing me, even if you didn’t really feel like—”

Loki bites her lip and holds her knee above his hip, angling them so that he can take her while they kiss. It takes a few thrusts before he perfects the position, but once they’ve found a rhythm, his hands are free to wander, and so are hers. She squeezes his buttocks, her blatant appreciation for his musculature making Loki flush. 

“That’s good,” she tells him. Her pupils are dilated and slightly foggy. “Good. Oh, God, Loki,  _ more.” _

Her second climax tears through her, and she moves against him like a desperate succubus, eager to drain every last drop of his essence. Loki is no match for such perfection. His cock twitches as he pulls out for one final thrust, and when he sheathes himself inside of her grasping heart he comes inside of her, every subsequent movement sending sticky wetness dripping down their thighs. It is a mess, and Loki will likely have to burn the furs to avoid embarrassment when they leave in the morning, but he is not particularly bothered. 

She has a remarkable way of making every bed they share, even a humble pile of furs on the floor, seem like the most enticing place in all of the worlds. Loki strokes her skin, indulging in the way she trembles anew when his hands brush against her sensitive breasts. He could have her again, right now. He should, actually. There is no reason to abstain. With a lazy, almost absent-minded smirk, he pinches her nipple, gratified by her answering moan. 

And, if she cannot walk, come morning, he will be more than happy to carry her. It is only fair.

He puts his fingers in his mouth, savoring the taste, then licks her lips, lets her taste herself on his tongue. When her eyes open, Loki leans back, letting his fingers collect some of the slick where their bodies are still joined. Her walls clench around him, so hot and tight that the pleasure is nearly excruciating. “Darling, you’re dripping,” he tells her, and then he crowds close once again, his hand moving to grip her waist as he drives his cock deeper, squeezing her delicate skin. “I can fill you again and again,” he whispers in her ear. 

Their chests are pressed close, close enough that he can feel her heart beating like it’s his own, close enough that every gasp and sigh she releases draws an answering breath into his own lungs. He tugs at her earlobe with his teeth, wicked delight flooding his heart when her head immediately tilts aside to allow him better access to her neck. “Tell me that you are mine,” he demands, even as he bites down on the mate-bond that proves that she is, and she does. “Come for me,” he says, and she does that, too, saying his name with such a sweet sigh that he immediately joins her. 

They are a tangled, perspiring mess. Loki, normally so fastidious, is beginning to appreciate the joys of feeling so utterly filthy and spent.  _ As long as it is with her,  _ he thinks.  _ She makes everything so much better.  _

“You’ve been calling me dröttning for weeks now,” she says. 

Loki is taken aback. “What of it?” he asks. He kisses her, hoping to distract her.

“You’ve been calling me ‘queen’ for a long time, Loki,” she says, tugging on his hair with a knowing look in her eye. “Care to explain?”

Does she really even need to hear him say it?  _ Apparently so. _ “You  _ are _ my queen,” he says. “Even if you are not Jotunheim’s queen… you will always be mine.”

“Yeah?”

He buries his face in the crook of her neck. She is so  _ comfortable.  _ Norns, he could die in her arms right now, and he thinks he’d be content. “Queen of my heart,” he mumbles. “Always.”


End file.
